“Can we get back to the matter at hand? My sister’s ruination?” Sethwick’s angry voice cut through their mirth. “Name your seconds, Ramsbury.”
Harcourt stepped forward. “I’d be honored to act—”
“Stubble it, Harcourt.” Prepared to stand, Yancy shoved the covers aside. “Sethwick—”
“Ewan, do leave off.” Isobel gave Yancy another blinding smile. “I have agreed to marry Lord Ramsbury.”
Isobel held her breath, terrified to look at Yancy after her brazen declaration. His sharp intake of breath didn’t help her already-cavorting nerves. She prayed she would be able to leave the chamber somewhat composed if he denied her statement.
The moment she discovered Yancy hadn’t been a philandering cur, that he had been trying to court her these many years, she’d made her decision. Another night wouldn’t pass without her sleeping beside the man she loved.
“Aren’t you going to wish us well, brother dear?” She laced her fingers with a silent Yancy’s. He looked utterly flummoxed, poor man. “After all, you were most insistent we wed.”
“Why the abrupt reversal?” Ewan eyed her suspiciously and scraped his hand through his black hair, leaving several strands standing on end. He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed. “Yesterday, you refused to entertain the notion.”
“A woman’s permitted to change her mind, isn’t she?” Isobel plucked at the counterpane’s edge, not quite meeting Ewan’s eyes.
Disentangling their fingers, Yancy edged from the bed. He should be the one to hear her reasons. Not bothering to don his banyan, he crossed to the door. “I need a few moments alone with my intended, gentlemen. Swanscott, I shall break my fast below stairs.”
“Yes, sir.” After a swift dip of his head, the valet beat a hasty retreat.
Uncertainty flickered within Ewan’s eyes, no doubt torn between defending her honor and relief he didn’t have to meet one of his dearest friends on the dueling field.
“I’ll give you ten minutes. There’ll be no more of this nonsense”—he waved at the rumpled bed—“until after the vows are spoken. I’m sending for Reverend Wallace the moment I leave this room.”
Harcourt winked at Isobel. “Sethwick, why don’t you let me send for the cleric and inform the others of the wedding while you tell Yancy why you barged into his bedchamber at this ungodly hour to begin with?”
She nodded. “That’s a marvelous idea, Your Grace.”
“I’d say it’s most fortuitous that everyone has arrived for Lady Sethwick’s birthday celebration. Bet my morning coffee, they’ll be cackling like hens raiding a strawberry bed upon hearing the good news.” He gave her a teasing smile.
Isobel grinned in return. She would have to pay Tasara a visit and discover precisely what occurred between the gypsy and the duke. Harcourt hadn’t shared the entire tale.
“Thank you. That would be most helpful. Please tell the others the wedding will take place . . .” Ewan hesitated, his gaze seeking Isobel’s. “What time would you like to wed?”
She dared meet Yancy’s eyes. Only tender warmth showed in their depths. “My lord? Have you a preference?”
“Call me Yancy, or if you insist, Bartholomew, though I’m afraid I won’t know you’re speaking to me, but don’t address me as my lord, Isobel. You are my equal.” He turned to Ewan. “I would like the ceremony to take place as soon as possible, if my betrothed agrees.”
“Isobel?” Ewan waited, the signs of his prior anger gone. Instead, a merry twinkle flashed in his eye. It seemed all was forgiven. “Can you be ready within the hour?”
She considered Yancy’s muscular chest. No, she had something else she wanted to do first. She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s just past eight. Let’s plan the ceremony for eleven. That is, if the time is convenient for Reverend Wallace.”
She swiped at a stray curl teasing her cheek.
“Eleven it is. I shall notify the others.” Harcourt gave them a brash grin and whistling, marched from the room.
Yancy closed the door behind the duke. “You had something of importance to tell me?”
Ewan scratched his chin.
“Yes, I wanted to return this”—he held up Yancy’s signet ring—“and also let you know, we’ve discovered Craiglocky’s traitor. A gypsy stable hand Jocky hired on a couple of weeks ago is the culprit. Last night, he sneaked into the lower chambers by way of an exterior door.”
Yancy slipped on his banyan and Isobel hid a disappointed sigh.
“Did he think to help MacHardy escape with your men standing guard?” He knotted the robe’s belt. “Not terribly bright of the fellow.”
“Desperation has made many a man a fool. He’s kin to the gypsies the Blackhalls held captive, and those filthy Scots curs”—Ewan cast Isobel a guarded glance—“threatened to misuse his family if the travellers didn’t aid in Miss Farnsworth’s abduction. Once he learned the Faas family had been rescued, he confessed and begged for forgiveness.”
“What will you do with him?” Yancy sat on the edge of the bed and took Isobel’s hand in his.
Not caring Ewan looked on, she laced her fingers with Yancy’s again. “Can you be lenient, Ewan? His fear and concern must have closely mirrored yours when I was captured.”
“I’ve already sent him on his way, after a stern warning, naturally.” Ewan turned to the exit then faced them again. “Oh, and I sent a messenger to request soldiers to accompany MacHardy and the rest of those vermin to London. Lydia and Ross are packing as we speak.”
Disappointment swept Isobel. She’d wanted an opportunity to speak with Lydia. “They’re not staying for Yvette’s birthday?”
“No, Ross insists they leave for Tornbury tomorrow. He’s most adamant on the matter.”
Unlike Lydia’s, his presence wouldn’t be missed.
Ewan opened the door. “Yancy, I shall see you in my study at ten to discuss the marriage settlement terms. I’m sure Hugh will wish to participate in the conversation as well.”
His face brightened. “Let me be the first to offer you felicitations.”
After Ewan left, Isobel stared at the door, rather surprised he hadn’t left it open. Unnatural silence permeated the bedchamber.
Cupping her cheek, Yancy turned her face to his. His gaze unreadable, he traced her lip with his forefinger. “What changed your mind?”
Chapter 29
Isobel swallowed her sudden nervousness. “I . . .”
Dash it all, she might as well tell him the truth.
“I read that letter.” She pointed to the wrinkled paper lying beside the clock.
“And something therein convinced you to marry me?” Yancy’s brow furrowed. “What, pray tell?”
A hot flush stole from Isobel’s chest to her hairline. “Well, I had thought you practically betrothed to Matilda, and—”
He made a crude noise in the back of his throat, clearly horrified by the notion. “By all that’s holy, not as long as I draw a breath. Why would you think such a thing, Isobel?”
The truth hit her with enough force, her breath hitched.
The chit had lied. And Isobel had been too naïve to realize or suspect it. She’d treated Yancy like a blackguard, and he’d done nothing wrong. Jealousy and fear had blinded her to the truth this entire time.
Chin tucked to her chest, she withdrew her hand from his. She fiddled with the sheet, afraid and embarrassed to meet his eyes. “She told me you’d been intimate and that when she was of an acceptable age, the two of you would marry.”
“Blatant lie. Why didn’t you ask me?” Yancy laid a hand on hers and gave it a gentle press. “Haven’t I always been truthful with you?”
The pain coloring his voice brought tears to her eyes.
“I should have. I was a complete idiot,” Isobel
whispered. “I know that now.” Eyes awash, she lifted her gaze to his. “Can you forgive me?”
He swept her hair from her neck and bent to place a kiss below her ear. “Of course, I can. I love you.”
“And I love you.” Tears crept from her closed eyes, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “And I almost lost you because of my foolishness.”
“Well, you have a lifetime to make it up to me, and I can think of several intriguing ways you might do that.”
The tone of his voice caused a delicious frisson to skitter across her flesh. “And what might those be, my lord?”
“I told you not to call me my lord.” He growled and pounced on her. Pushing her into the bedding, he tickled her ribs. “I would be happy to begin your instruction before our vows are spoken.”
Laughing, Isobel tried to wriggle from underneath him. Something flexed against her thigh, and her breath left her lungs in a rush.
Feeling brazen, she trailed her finger along Yancy’s collarbone. “Why don’t you give me my first lesson? Besides, I didn’t thank you for your valiant rescue.”
He angled onto his elbows then shot a glance to the closed door. “Now? Your brother is expecting us below.”
“He can wait.” Isobel drew his head downward as she lifted her mouth. “I’d like to show you how sorry I am for not trusting you.”
“In broad daylight?” A devilish smile curved Yancy’s mouth. “Who am I to deny my bride?”
In one swift motion, he rose. Stripping off his banyan, he then locked the door before heaving the robe onto a chair. Without a jot of chagrin, he peeled off his trousers.
Isobel almost licked her lips in anticipation.
His penis stood proud and stiff, as bold and impressive as the rest of the man.
Sitting upright, she lifted her nightgown over her head. There would be no pretense of shyness. She wanted him as he obviously wanted her.
Yancy’s gaze slid to her breasts. In three elongated strides, he stood beside the bed.
Isobel opened her arms in welcome.
He bent over her, his thumbs burning trails of desire as he circled her breasts. “I want you so badly, I may not go as slowly as I should.”
“I don’t want you to go slowly. I’ve ached for your touch for years.” She traced his lips with her tongue as she encircled his length with her fingers.
His breath hissed between clenched teeth. “Keep that up, and I shall be spilling my seed into your hand.”
“Is that possible?” She raised her head to examine his manhood cradled in her palm.
Yancy scooted onto the bed. “Yes, it’s possible, but that’s for another time. For our first time together, I intend to be buried deep within your sweet folds when I find my release.”
Lying atop her, he took her nipple in his mouth, grazing the tip with his teeth.
Isobel groaned and arched into him. She spread her legs and gripped his buttocks, urging him closer. She needed something, she didn’t know what, but a hunger had been awakened deep within her woman’s center.
His hands and mouth were everywhere, stroking, igniting.
She returned his caresses, instinctively comprehending if she enjoyed a certain touch, he would too.
“Yancy, I cannot stand much more.” She ran her hands up and down his spine, scraping her fingernails. Pressing her face to his throat, she nipped his neck.
His muscles bunched and flexed beneath her inexperienced hands.
He trailed a hand to the curls between her legs. A spasm of pure bliss shot to her core. She moved against the rhythm he introduced her to with his skilled fingers.
“It will hurt a little the first time, sweetheart.” Yancy settled his hips between her thighs.
He took her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping hers, as he eased into her tightness.
Isobel hadn’t expected the stretching, the fullness. The unfamiliar sensation made her want to move her hips. She tested the urge, tilting her hips upward at the same instant Yancy surged downward.
A strangled cry escaped her.
“I’m sorry, my love. The worst is over.” Yancy tenderly kissed her while rocking his hips the merest bit.
Moaning, Isobel wiggled beneath him. “That feels good.”
“Just you wait.” He chuckled and lifted her hips, sinking deeper.
He rocked her again, and soon she caught the rhythm. Yancy increased the tempo, his breathing raspy.
Meeting him stroke for stroke, Isobel touched his face.
“I love you.” Gasping, she crested the glittering wave, spiraling on a rainbow of sensation beyond time and words.
“And I love you.” Yancy groaned against her throat as he stiffened and tremendous shudders shook his body.
Isobel lay with her head on his shoulder, more replete and content than she’d ever dreamed possible. She yawned, not the least interested in moving. “I suppose I ought to bathe and get dressed. Those below expected us quite some time ago.”
“I suspect they know exactly what has caused our delay.” Caressing her from shoulder to hip, Yancy seemed as disinclined to move as she.
She propped her chin on his chest, running her fingers through the crisp hairs. “Too bad we don’t have time for me to show you my remorse again.”
A movement caught her eye, and she turned her head. The sheet above his groin twitched.
Sliding up his chest, she arched an eyebrow and gave him a seductive smile. “We’ll be late.”
“Who cares?” Yancy settled Isobel on his lap, and by the time he’d finished, she didn’t care either.
Epilogue
South of Naples
May 1819
“Will you look at that?” Isobel angled her parasol and pointed to the remains of Paestum’s amphitheater. “However did they manage to build such astounding structures?”
“Come along, sweet. I’m afraid our driver is becoming impatient.” Yancy grasped her elbow, guiding her toward the waiting open-top carriage.
She offered the olive-skinned man standing before the door an apologetic smile.
“I suppose he has grown rather used to all of this. I never could.” After a final reluctant glance, she hurried to the conveyance.
“We’ve been here six weeks, my love, and we were in Spain two months prior to that. I don’t believe you would ever grow bored, and you’ve two chests packed with artifacts and mementos to remind you of your time here.” Yancy helped her into the carriage before taking the seat beside her.
Isobel couldn’t suppress a wistful sigh. Tomorrow they sailed for England.
Placing her hand on his thigh, Yancy gazed at the passing scenery. “What’s to be our next adventure? France? Egypt? Russia?”
She shivered. “No, not Russia. Much too cold, although the country is rich in history. I had something of a different nature in mind.”
“Oh, and what might that be?” Yancy glanced at her, a smile playing about his mouth.
“Motherhood.” She cradled her flat belly.
His jaw sagged, and so did his gaze, straight to her stomach, before leaping to meet her eyes. “Are you . . .”
She nodded then squealed as he pulled her onto his lap. She almost dropped her parasol and accidentally clouted the driver on his back. “I’m so sorry.”
He turned around and grinning, pointed to her lap. “Bambino?”
“Si, bambino,” she said, patting her tummy.
The driver faced frontward once more, and Yancy kissed her full on the mouth.
“How long have you known? When will the child arrive?” He placed his palm on her middle. “Should you be traveling?”
“Darling, I just became aware myself. Our babe will arrive early next year, and yes, I am perfectly fine to tra
vel. I haven’t experienced a jot of malaise.”
She rested her head against his chest. “We are very blessed.”
“Indeed, and to think, I almost told Sethwick no when he invited me to Craiglocky those many years ago.” Yancy hugged her closer and kissed her forehead. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God I said yes.”
“That makes two of us,” Isobel whispered against his lips.
Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Page 22